


Inevitable

by cafeanna



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternative Timeline, Angst, Chaotic Open Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Open Relationships, Post-Succession Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28957722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafeanna/pseuds/cafeanna
Summary: “How the hell did you get my number anyway?”“Friend of a friend,” Kuroro says, smiling thinly and then he tries again, “I was hoping we could sit and talk.”“About what?”There is a gleam in his eye, smile tilting at a half fraction too sharp. “The one thing we both have in common.”OR, Kuroro and Leorio meet to talk about Kurapika. [Complete]
Relationships: Kurapika/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight, Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84





	Inevitable

Leorio is stuck first by the warmth of the café.

It is as if he somehow slipped out of midwinter, bleak and inevitable, the city outside chalk-white from the salted street corners to the frosty windows. Ice, and snow, and skinning breeze, but once he ducks inside, he is hit with a blast of warm air that has him lifting his head from his scarf, blind for a moment with sunburned bleakness blinking at the corners of his vision.

He never travels this far uptown.

The café is decadent. Deep gray walls and gold-accent frames, the bare artisanal lightbulbs and the smell of fresh coffee, sinking into the low leather seats artfully arranged in congenial circles. He stands out in his puffed coat and wrinkled scrubs, the weight of another late shift dragging under his eyes, but the scent of dark ground beans makes his stomach ache with longing for home.

Sunshine and mild winters so unlike the York New season.

Once his eyes adjust, he spots who he's looking for in the corner of the café, tucked neatly behind a display of too expensive mugs and coffee beans, the slant of window illuminating the corner. 

If he stands out, Kuroro fits in.

A thief blending in with the crowd.

He is wearing a thick dark sweater, his thumbs looped through the holes on the sleeves and his coat thrown over the back of the chair. Book in hand, he looks the picture of ease. Cool, coiling energy like how he was in the backseat of Leorio's rental so many years ago.

Leorio eyes him for a moment as he unwinds his scarf, curiosity baiting that animal impulse to flee. The frost-burn of his ears and cheeks stinging in kind.

He's late.

He knows he's late.

But he doesn't really feel compelled to apologize.

As he makes his way over, he can feel the strained emotion pulling over him. The unnamed kind that had spiked when he had gotten Kuroro's call and had stayed simmering on the backburner until today, and all those ugly feelings that peeled at him since then. Stewing over a long weekend. Building with the snow outside.

Instantly, his mind goes to Kurapika. Fist clenched with chains, a snarl on his mouth.

Kuroro had made no threats in his call, nothing lingering in his words like an _or else_ or _if you should not_ or anything conditional. He had simply asked him to coffee, as casually as if they had been friends for years, passing through town, as luck would have it.

And although the café is filled with people, Leorio cannot help but feel as if he's in a dark alley, meeting with someone he shouldn't, someone dangerous.

Leorio can feel his fists curl when he reaches the table.

Kuroro glances up from his book, his expression unreadable with a benign pleasantness. "I was wondering when you were going to show." He shuts it with a little slam, nothing forceful, but the thickness of the book makes the statement. He sets it aside. "Do you want to sit?"

The empty seat across from Kuroro stands as an affront.

Leorio eyes him. The extension of his hand.

The pale fingers tapered pink with chipped-black nail polish and tattoos on the backs, faded against the palm.

Had he had those before?

"I'm not sure I want to."

Kuroro looks nonplussed. "Well, are you going to order?"

Leorio can feel his stomach turning with the suggestion. His lunch hour slipping further and further away from him. Chalkboard menus blurry in his mind. "No—I, I just want to know what you want."

Kuroro blinks, long and slow. "What I want." He repeats.

"Yeah." Leorio says, with some edge to his voice. Not much, but enough. The kind of edge that makes shitty doctors and nurses back down before he yelled. He taps that down, hard, hands balling into fists in his coat pockets. He doesn't want to piss this guy off, but he doesn't want to show weakness either. "How the hell did you get my number anyway?"

"Friend of a friend," Kuroro says, smiling thinly and then he tries again, "I was hoping we could sit and talk."

"About what?"

There is a gleam in his eye, smile tilting at a half fraction too sharp. "The one thing we both have in common."

And Leorio is not stupid.

He thought this might be about Kurapika—the one thing between them, their reason for meeting—but the high-tension leaves a prickling chill rolling through him, clenching his stomach and leaving him stranded with a knot in his throat.

And, contrary to what Kuroro might have wanted, his implication does not compel Leorio to sit. If anything, his instinctive step forward—all burning protectiveness blotting out the fear—warrants the widening of Kuroro's eyes, lips twitching in muse. Mother _fucker._

"What did you do to him?"

Kuroro puts on a good show. His thumb hooking around the handle of his mug, a half-submerged latte leaf sinking into milky brown. He looks almost contemplative, and all too pleased with himself when he says, "Nothing he didn't want."

Leorio can taste the gasp of his own shock—calls it outrage—and slams his fist down on the table, strong enough without nen for the high-polished wood to rattle, make the pages of Kuroro's book flutter. His eyes bore into cloudy gray.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Kuroro's voice is a mumble against the lip of ceramic, gray eyes peaking at him, crinkled at the corners. "Surely you didn't think you were the only one?"

And—

And he doesn't—

He's _not_.

He knows Kurapika sees other people.

He has seen the evidence of it in the scant light of his bedroom, in those little hours, undressing Kurapika with the reverent ease of something precious. Easing him back onto his narrow bed, his fingers mapping out the jut of hipbones and the blooming black flowers filling under the tender sunflecks of his skin. Kurapika's breath hitching with each brush of his fingers.

It makes him think—

It makes him want to be gentler. Ease that skittishness of Kurapika's breath into something of a whine as he works his way down and back up again. The crescents of Kurapika's nails digging along his spine as Kurapika kissed his throat, thigh sliding against his as Kurapika climbed atop of him, hands against his chest.

The deep touches, the affection, all that gilded warmth that clouded his mind when he held Kurapika in his arms. Moments he could pretend Kurapika was _his_ alone. That they were different. That they were normal.

That Kurapika didn't want anyone else.

And he had hoped that—

He shakes off the thought, pulling himself back into the moment. He never thought he would meet the other people Kurapika is sleeping with. Never dreamed he would be in a situation where it could happen.

Kurapika kept Leorio separate from his life in the mafia, so he had assumed Kurapika had chosen from his parade of admirers—celebrated mafia dons, wealthy capos, and well-connected informants. All pin-stripe suits and nameless faces. Not offering much threat to what Leorio likened to their bond—

But here is Kuroro Lucilfer.

The leader of the Spiders and orchestrator of Kurapika's nightmares.

And it's—unreal.

"You're lying." He whispers, mumbles.

His voice is a rough drag in his throat, a scream choked back on propriety and pure horror, but Kuroro's expression sits somber. A summer breeze against Leorio's tundra, fist still trembling on the table.

"Shall I prove it then?"

Leorio snorts, ugly, unthinking. "Yeah? How?"

Kuroro sits back, eyes lid, assessing him. Leorio is almost expecting some spectacular show of violence. Then, with the ease of the moment, seconds sinking like sand between them, his words seem to catch in his throat, rolling back for him.

His mind goes to horrible places first.

That Kuroro may have coerced him, taken pictures. Display for him some drunken tryst that would have never happened—

"He has two moles above his navel." Kuroro says, and just as clearly, Leorio can see them. Dark brown against Kurapika's warm skin, raised under his thumb. "And a scar on his right shoulder from an old stab wound. Some tangle with a lower henchman, that he never gave a chance to heal properly, so it gets sore quickly. He has sensitive thighs and when you kiss him, he makes this little noise, almost as if he's surprised by it—"

"Bullshit." Leorio hisses, knuckles grinding against the wood until it whines. "Why the hell would he choose you? He couldn't have possibly have forgiven you."

Kuroro looks contemplative.

"Why do any of us want what's bad for us?" Kuroro's eyes narrow a fraction. "Maybe he feels like he deserves it?"

"You—y'know what? Shut up. Just shut the hell up." His face screws up, eyes unfocused, nose wrinkled. "I'm thinking."

And even as his mind pulls into turmoil, Kuroro's words, the pieces of Kurapika he knows so well, he believes it. Believes it happened, but the knowledge Kuroro has of Kurapika's body gives him no comfort, until his mind catches up with him again.

Kuroro had already told him that hadn't he? _Nothing he didn't want._ A tilt of his mouth sweetened by the latte leaf. _Fuck._

"Surprised?" Kuroro asks, voice tipping, _delighted._

Leorio wants to punch him.

Break his nose.

"Well, _yeah,_ " Leorio hisses and, faced with Kuroro's peaked expression, snarls, voice pitching high. "No—Kurapika didn't tell me he was fuckin' his demons. _Yes_ , I knew he was seeing other people." He sneers. "We both do. That's our relationship."

"But do _you_ see other people?"

It's another little jab, all calm.

Leorio feels his throat close. Tempted to lie.

But someone like Kuroro might know he's lying and that, in itself, is worse.

"I don't have the time to meet new people."

"Right." Kuroro sighs, setting his cup down. "You're a doctor."

"I'm in residency."

"Mm, as far as I'm concerned, you're a doctor to me."

Annoyance sparks again. "Did you call me here for anything, or did you just want to do a dramatic reveal of fuckin' my best friend?"

It's all gall, anger burning at the residual edge of protectiveness.

He doesn't want to envision it, but after a moment, Leorio cannot help but see Kuroro with Kurapika. Can see Kuroro in the thumbprint marks on his waist, the kiss on his throat, the rumble of a collar.

He wonders if Kuroro had seen him as well, the tussle of Kurapika's hair, the ease in his shoulders from sleep.

At the thought of Kurapika, curled in a ball on his bed, sheets twisted around him and gold hair splayed across his shoulder, he begins to feel a tepid pull in his gut.

Leorio cannot name the feeling, but it rises up like bile—betrayal. Jealousy, though he has no right to it.

Kurapika never made any promises to him, and he had been upfront about what he wanted from the start. Telling him what this would be if they were to continue. And although Leorio _knew,_ he could not help that his beating red heart from wanting something more, and it fills his lungs with the breath of something rotten.

It is easier to be mad at Kuroro.

Kuroro Lucilfer, head of the spiders, master thief, and bedfellow to one of Leorio's most cherished people.

Kuroro who stares at him like he's not seeing him, sliding over the sad, sick edges as he smirks under Leorio's stare, pulling at his question. _What_ ** _is_** _he doing?_

"He doesn't love either of us."

Leorio can't taste his mouth, but it's moving. "Shut the fuck u—"

"Though, I think he believes he does." Kuroro's voice is a soft as if to ease the brunt of his words, rolling like a poem over Leorio's sinking stomach. "Sometimes when I look at him, caught up in the heat of it, when he's—saying all those things, I think he might believe it. That his little pleas and whispers and whines come from a place so genuine as love, and not those fleeting little feelings of lust."

Unbidden, Kurapika's face appears in his mind, heat-burned behind his eyelids, Kurapika riding against him, mouth pulling with the weight of his desires.

Something private, and sacred, and _his_ shared with someone he _hates_.

"I know that." He says, with teeth.

"And that bothers you." It slides home somewhere truthful, horrible, and _real._ As if this were a confession that should not be spoken aloud. As if it should be squandered, strangled with all the little honest feelings like fiber-glass in his lungs. "Doesn't it?"

Leorio can feel the painful grind of his knuckles, pressed to tight for too long against the flat of the table, numbing. That tight coil coming loose as his shoulder eases. "Not as much as it used to."

It feels like loss.

A note of something, touches Kuroro's eyes. Not amusement, not mirth, not even pity which Leorio is sure he would rather choke than see, but understanding. Understanding like the spark of a match, a flicker in the smog.

His hand slides back in his coat pocket and he sighs, rolling his neck. He is suddenly too tired for this, too bedraggled for all these emotions, but he still has his pride and he soaks his voice in it as he draws himself up. "So what? You found out about me and got all pressed and possessive?" Kuroro says nothing, still as stone. Leorio glares. "What now? Are you going to stop seeing him?"

That triggers something in motion. The little silence between them abating as Kuroro uncurls his fingers from his mug. "Mn, no. I'm going to continue on as I have been. I suspect you will do the same?"

Leorio knows the answer. That horrible feeling that cuts through him as if his heart were wet paper.

His love. Kurapika's lack.

It never bothered him until it was dragged in front of his eyes. Something to think about. Nothing he wants to lose.

"You'll do the same." Kuroro muses and, for the first time, there is something an awful lot like disappointment in his voice, curling his frown. "I thought you might."

"Thought?" Leorio asks, his voice dry and humorless.

"I had hoped you wouldn't." Kuroro says pointedly.

"Oh, fuck you."

"What? Did you not hope the same of me?" Silence. "Thought so." Kuroro glares at him a moment, lifting the mug to his lips again, then he sets it down with a loud _clank._ Pale knuckles curved. "I'm not going to cradle you in my arms and comfort you if that's what you want." His expression darkens. "And Kurapika's not going to either."

It clicks in his mind.

"So, what you want me just to not tell him?" He scoffs. "I'm not going to do that."

"What good will that do?" Kuroro lifts a brow. "Kurapika might be a damned one, but he still has all of those tedious little moralities. If he knows he's hurting you, he might stop—"

"— _what,_ stop seeing you?"

Kuroro levels him with a stare, ice cold, grating against his temper. "He'll stop seeing both of us."

He wants to deny it.

But he's right.

Leorio knows he is, but _fuck,_ it stings. As horrible and fucked as it is, loving someone that cannot love you back, neediness to avoid loneliness, he doesn't want to be without Kurapika. He doesn't want to hurt, or see him hurting.

And neither does Kuroro apparently.

"I would rather not alter the arrangement we have. Though I would prefer to be the only, I don't really want any other wolves in the traps thinking they have a chance." Kuroro's head tilts, chasing the same thought as Leorio. The mafia, the high praise Kurapika receives as head of the Nostrade, young and pretty and adored.

Though, Kuroro is a substitute worse than any mafioso Leorio could name.

Kuroro's expression smooths after a moment, eyes shifting back to him. Something whimsical, and a touch devious.

"Where does that leave us, I wonder? Two people in love with the same man." Kuroro's finger guides along the rim of his mug, a wry smile pulling at his mouth. As if the pensive little frown had never been there. Some raw hewn humor. "Perhaps, you and I should close the triangle and start an affair of our own."

The suggestion catches a scoff in Leorio's throat, yanking out that muddy, horrible feeling in his chest that had persisted since he walked into the café, since Kuroro spoke. Choking on absurdity.

"Fat fuckin' chance."

Kuroro laughs.

"Offer still stands." Kuroro says giving him lazy once-over that Leorio dignifies with a loud gagging noise as Kuroro takes up his coat.

"I'm not a member of your little sex cult, you—wait, where the hell are you going?" Kuroro is at his shoulder, so much shorter than him.

Kuroro lifts a brow. "We're done talking."

"No. We're not."

"Well, what else can we possibly say to each other?" Kuroro asks, pulling on his coat. Long, fur-trimmed collar high against his throat. He gestures between them, a red inked sun fanning as he walks. "I'll contact you if we should need to schedule another chat, but I don't see the point." Leorio frowns, spinning in a circle as Kuroro talks over his shoulder, eyes lid under lashes. "But you should call me sometime. Unlike our shared love, I actually answer."

Leorio watches him go, the swirl of dark jacket and wintry air. Blinking out of existence once again as he sails through the café doors.

Silence follows, but Leorio can feel his senses coming back—the clink of glasses, the grind of coffee beans, smells sharp and sweet—but the mounting exhaustion has him sinking into the chair Kuroro had left for him, face falling into his palm, he takes a deep breath. Then another.

Jags of grief ripple through him.

He's not sure how long he sits there, fingers digging against his temples, but his pager buzzes against his belt under his coat. His colleagues probably looking for him, wondering where he is.

So much time passing so quickly.

When he looks up, he startled to find Kuroro's book set on the table. Purposeful, like everything else.

**Author's Note:**

> This actually turned out less painful than I planned.
> 
> So, in the end I didn't want to feel unfair to Leorio (bc I love him), but it's just a shitty situation because of the people involved (Kurapika doing hot girl summer in fuckin' January). And Kuroro's just as hurt (but he's not going to seethe about it to Leorio), he just wants to act all haughty and possessive, but he thinks Leorio's alright.
> 
> Also, the little ChroLeo. I'm kinda digging them lately. Leorio's 193cm and Kuroro's 177cm. That's a niiice height difference.
> 
> (1): "when you kiss him" line came from City of Glass. I rereading with a friend.
> 
> -cafeanna


End file.
